


Arms of Shelter, Hands of Comfort

by The1stHarbinger



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon Era, Established Relationship, Family, Fluff, Implied Mpreg, Love, M/M, arthur is a good dad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-17
Updated: 2018-02-17
Packaged: 2019-03-20 08:12:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13713579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The1stHarbinger/pseuds/The1stHarbinger
Summary: Arthur’s son weeps in the middle of the night, and despite his own vulnerabilities, Arthur will do anything to care for him.





	Arms of Shelter, Hands of Comfort

**Author's Note:**

> The mpreg is mostly implied in this fic, so really you can read it however you like :)

Arthur woke to heart-rending cries echoing distressingly throughout his large chambers.

He blinked back his sheer exhaustion and rolled his head to the side even as he sensed the absence of his bed-partner. For a moment he was heedless of his actions, his hand traveling along the rich silk of the sheets until the pads of his fingertips brushed against a pillow deprived of its usual occupant. The shock of cold reflected that which resided deep in his chest, borne of an incessant concern and anxiety that had pervaded months before the newborn had even arrived.

His vision distorted as he sat up and swung his legs, leaden with fatigue, off the side of the mattress. It came back into focus at the sight of a cot a mere metre away, illuminated by the light of a waning moon spilling in through the windows. A migraine spiked in his temples at his son’s unhappy screaming, although his own wretched helplessness was not entirely without blame.

Arthur stumbled from his bed and gripped the edge of the cot with both hands as gently as he could in his wearied state. As he leaned down, the louder and more forceful the cries became until he genuinely feared for the boy’s lungs.

A familiar ache sparked in his heart as he watched his son, so tiny in the excessive cradle, writhe and kick and thrash in agitation. He felt utterly useless as he stood there and watched the babe weep, frozen in indecision and a sort of vacancy only brought upon by sleep deprivation. It was only when the child’s breaths came short and gasping that panic overtook him, and Arthur hoisted him into his arms to cradle against his chest.

Instinct and half-remembered instructions demanded he support the babe’s neck, even as the angry little thing fought his every move. Arthur forced down his fear that he might drop him and focused instead on achieving a firm, if gentle, hold.

“Where are you, Merlin?” he muttered, surprising himself with how plaintive the words came.

By now he was well-accustomed to his doubts pertaining to how well-equipped he truly was for fatherhood, and those same thoughts descended on him then as he left the chambers he and Merlin shared—foregoing conventional courtly attire for his usual sleepwear and slippers—to seek out his husband.

He cursed Merlin’s restlessness, and his inability to obey, as he scoured the halls, scaring off guards and servants alike with his hard-eyed urgency. Merlin was  _supposed_ to be on bedrest, although that lasted only about as long as could be expected, and seemed to like to entrust the child to Arthur whenever antsiness struck him (even—or especially, Arthur thought bitterly—if that happened to be in the middle of the night).

His sleeping tunic did not do much to stifle the babe’s pitiful cries that were ever increasing in intensity but served its new purpose as a snot rag exceptionally. The thought wasn’t all that amusing to begin with, but it was even less so upon hearing his son’s breath catch as the little boy choked on air from the severity of his cries. The sound sent Arthur’s heart into a thumping frenzy, and adrenaline surged through him as he quickened his rapid pace.

He had led many battles, faced down any number of terrifying creatures, defied his father, and took onto his shoulders the responsibility of an entire kingdom, and yet none of the challenges he’d had to confront insofar had ever come close to evoking the same fear in him as he felt at that moment. He struggled to combat the tears pricking in the corners of his eyes.

Arthur’s feet led him dutifully to the corridor that contained Gaius’ workroom. Relief flooded him upon hearing Merlin’s laughter reverberating from within the open doorway of the rooms, and he spared barely a thought to be amazed that he had not gone entirely deaf from the babe’s screaming. His shoulders sagged and his breath steadied when the babe’s cries tapered off into whimpers, until finally they ceased.

Arthur glanced down at the little thing nuzzling into his shoulder, almost tempted to giggle hysterically. He managed to catch himself before such an unkingly reaction overcame him, and with tender fingers he stroked the babe’s downy blond head. With lazy steps, he ambled the rest of the way to the open doorway and leaned against the frame, smiling slightly when he saw Merlin and Gaius conversing animatedly over a steaming vial of unpleasantly green liquid.

His own breath caught when Merlin looked up curiously, and he wasn’t wholly prepared for the fond grin that ensued from the sight the pair of them must have made. Arthur hesitantly grinned back, chuckling when only a moment later Merlin was again distracted by what Gaius was saying.

“Idiot,” Arthur whispered with affection. He thought his ribs might actually burst from where his heart swelled in his chest, and then tears were pricking his eyes for an altogether different reason. He huffed to stave off thoughts of  _family_ , blinking rapidly until the emotions threatening to overwhelm him—surely brought on by his patent exhaustion—eased into something a bit more manageable.

“Not sleeping, I see?”

Arthur startled at the voice from behind him, spinning round to see Hunith waiting in the middle of the corridor, hands clasped before her. She appeared almost as fatigued as he, but her eyes still gleamed with a smile.

Hunith, Arthur readily admitted, had been something of a godsend when the babe had finally come and two foolish men were too panicked and frantic to care for him properly.

Arthur sighed and put his back to the cool stone, the chill seeping through his worn nightshirt to bite at his skin. He shivered but didn’t move as Hunith came closer and peeked at the babe’s face, half hidden by Arthur’s tunic.

“I could say the same of you.”

Hunith laughed softly and raised a hand to gingerly caress the slumbering child’s cheek. “I admit I came to check on Merlin. I worry that he is already up and about.”

Arthur scoffed. “ _Mer_ lin is more than capable of taking care of himself, as he so loves to remind me. He could be sick with a serket sting and still find a way to rile my nerves. You needn’t worry.” Only after he said them did he question if the words coloured him a hypocrite.

“A parent always worries for their child, my lord.” Hunith spoke hushedly, but her words were heavy with meaning just as her eyes held a knowing glint.

Arthur buried his nose into his son’s soft hair, swallowing back the bitter taste that had materialised in the back of his throat. “He only calms once he hears Merlin.”

Hunith eyed him, her gaze indecipherable, then reached for the child with open palms. Arthur bit back his reluctance and relinquished him into her waiting arms, crossing his own over his chest and feeling a sense of emptiness and loss that was ridiculous as it was irrepressible.

Silence filled the night air, only broken by the odd sounds coming from the workroom. Arthur watched Hunith rock the child in the cradle of her arms, her brow furrowed with thought she did not share with him.

Then she spoke. “I knew a couple, back in Ealdor,” she began. Arthur stared at her, curious, as her eyes remained steady on the babe. “Gale and Agnes. So young when they had their first child.” She smiled, Arthur could only assume from a memory long past. “It broke Gale’s heart, how the little girl screamed whenever he held her.”

Her eyes met his. “I told Agnes once to give him the babe while he was caught unawares and relaxed, and, miraculously, the girl didn’t weep. You see, she hadn’t liked the tension with which he held her.”

A lump stuck in Arthur’s throat, and he broke eye contact. He gazed upon his son and felt something inside him ease. He nodded.

Hunith passed the boy back into his arms, and Arthur accepted him with ease. The boy did not struggle as Arthur cuddled him to his chest.

He found Hunith’s eyes again when a calloused palm brushed over his cheek. “It is you who calms in Merlin’s presence, my lord,” she said, kindly and unshakeable. “A newborn can only rely on instinct to tell him what is right and wrong. When he feels that you are tense, he tenses. But when you relax, so too does he.” She pressed a chaste kiss to Arthur's forehead. “Don’t doubt that he loves you, Arthur.”

Hunith disappeared into the workroom, leaving Arthur shaky and feeling like his heart was too big for his chest. He stared down at his son, overcome by how lucky he was to have what he had. What Merlin had given him. He let his heart swell with love—for his new family, for Hunith, for his friends steadfast in their support. For everything he never allowed himself to hope for when he was young and naive and exceedingly arrogant.

Arthur rocked his son in his arms, humming a half-remembered lullaby from when he was a child. He let the little boy fill his senses as he heard Merlin’s laughter echo in the empty corridor surrounding him. His eyes fell shut for a moment, and then, more content than he'd ever been, he followed Hunith into the room.


End file.
